A strong gust of wind brings in a rustle of old, dry leaves and helps stir the dust into the air as Brother George makes his way up to the altar from the vestibule in the back. Silently, she tip-toes to the nearest wall and slides along like a shadow to get closer for when he needs her help.
“Good afternoon my beloved family and friends,” the priest starts.
Kelly, as silent and as slow as she can be, slips around the edge of the altar and makes her way to the far side where the serving wine and plate wait with today’s Bible reading. No one pays any attention to her. Even Brother George gives no notice as his arms raise to the heavens and the words of everyone around them merge into one voice.
“Good afternoon to you, Brother George,” they all say.
“Today is a great day beneath the ever-watchful eye of our great lord and father,” George continues.
Several ‘Amen’ answer in agreement.
“Some of you would know, because I know that you track the calendars with eyes like hawks, that today marks four years since the founding of our blessed home here in the great plains of Nebraska.”
“Here, here!” several voices call out from the back of the room.
Brother George gives a small nod and smiles.
“Four long years we have worked together, lived together, loved together, and prayed together for our salvation from the perils that were stricken upon this earth. Disease, war, famine, and death stalk the weary and the weak among us who still suffer across this land. Those of us sitting next to you are proof of what our father has given us as we remain here, together in peace and harmony. Through all that has befallen we still sit here today. Because of his belief in the good in every man and woman we have been saved from the ravages that have torn lesser believers from his very grace. Today, marks another year as we give thanks to the one up high who has shown us the true path.”
The room fills with cheers and words of praise. People clap, and Brother George opens his arms wider as the congregation lifts its arms in tribute and homage. Kelly keeps herself in the shadows. She doesn’t want to fall into the trap of hysteria that befalls them all every time. The words comfort her, the feeling of being as one, but she knows deep inside things feel different. There is more to her life, and though they are all family, she has always been alone. Even in the eyes of the lord above, she is special. In more ways than what Brother George likes to tell all the children and teenagers during his sermons.
Quietly she begins to mouth her own words of gratitude. Eyes closed, she lets the whispered words slip from her lips.
“Thank you, God, for all you have given us in our time of…”
Glass shatters and the sound of explosions rock the church. Kelly is slammed from her trance so hard she stumbles and tips the tv tray. Fingers fumble and hands go numb. The purple wine inside the glass is no better than milk in an open bucket as it twists and turns from her grip.
She drops to her knees. The pitcher just out of her reach as she falls forward.
A finger catches on the small handle and lifts as she lands on her side, the bottom dangles perilously an inch over the wooden slabs of the floor.
Then all the world comes rushing at her like a tidal wave of a summer sandstorm. Screams echo around the room like a tornado of sound. People are on their feet. Two more explosions erupt, and a second window shatters out and rains on the people below.
“Outside now, priest!” a man’s voice demands.
The men of the congregation begin to bark back, and Brother George tries to calm everyone with words that no one can hear. Kelly puts down the wine and crawls until she can lift herself back to her feet. She stays behind George as he makes his way down the center aisle of the church. Bodies push together. Huddling closer to the aisle and quickly falling in step behind their pastor they follow as he makes his way to the rear of the church.
“I’m giving you until the count of ten or I’m burning that whole damn building down with you in it,” the man outside screams again.
Holes rip through the boards nearest the front door sending shards of wood flying into the first rows of pews. Rays of light chase the bullets in.
Babies and children cry. Men and women scream and try to talk over one another. All have questions, but no one offers answers. Silently, the soft hands of Brother George beckon everyone to calm and obediently everyone does.
“Please, everyone, stay calm. This must be some kind of misunderstanding,” their priest pleads.
Showing the same steadiness as he would standing in front of hundreds of people, the leader of their small town makes his way out the door. Kelly is a few steps behind, the first of the men following directly behind her.
The light of the afternoon sun is blinding even where it reddens the western horizon. Shielding her eyes, Kelly blinks away the tears as she is pushed to the side.
Car and truck engines rev and headlights blind everyone as if the high sun wasn’t enough. Pushing shoulder to shoulder, the community files out of the church. More people ask questions, but none loud enough to be spoken over the sight of two dozen armed men with rifles circling the front of the building.
“There you are, in the flesh and blood,” the voice who had called them out says.
Brother George steps forward as the congregation stays huddled in front of the open doorway. Kelly keeps herself to the outside. Everyone has their eyes on George and the one who steps forward.
A tall man. Almost a head taller than George who isn’t small himself. Red burned skin shines where he smiles with a piece of straw dangling from between stained teeth. He wears one of those stupid cowboy hats and two pistols hang from his belt.
She’s heard stories like this before. If this was the old west, he’d be some kind of rich cattle baron coming to claim what isn’t his. The men behind him are not riding horses and the weapons they carry are not like the movies of old. Some wear uniforms. Browns and tans beneath vests and straps covered in bullets. These men have a tough look to them, their faces flat, emotionless, and made of edges that could cut. She can feel her heart race as Brother George draws closer to the one demanding their attention.
Running away, turning the corner and getting lost behind the church passes through her mind a dozen times in a split second. No one would notice. There are too many of them standing huddled together and they would easily miss one simple girl in the heat of the moment.
“Can I help you with something this afternoon?” Brother George asks.
The large man chuckles as he starts a small pace, turning his attention to the village awaiting his every word.
“Yes, I think you can. Do you know who I am?” the man asks.
George shakes his head no, his dark hair shinning in the light and the afternoon heat not touching him where it burns their assaulter across face and bare hands.
“I believe this is the first time we have ever met, sir.”
Another chuckle.
“Sir? At least we are starting on the right foot. Well, my name is Logan Barnett. Me and my boys here are from a city just north of here called New Frontier. You ever heard of it?”
There is a pause as Logan continues his three-step pace.
“I have never heard of such a city,” Brother George answers.
“No… I would guess you haven’t being so tied up in such a small community. The thing here is… Father…?”
“Brother George. My people here call me Brother George.”
“Ah, your people,” Logan says and stops to take a long hard look at all of them. Kelly can feel his eyes go over her, his vision seeing right through her. “And I would assume you would do anything for ‘your people’. Would I be correct?”
“We take care of each other in this town. What I would do for them, they would do for me,” George answers.
Logan nods again and begins to dig a tiny trench in the dirt as his pacing resumes.
“As I was saying, my boys, and I have heard of your small town here. Even with what remains in this
disastrous world we call the grand old U.S. of A. the reputation of your town and its ‘miracles’ precede what should be even possible.”
“What miracles are these, Mr. Barnett? For whatever it is you may have heard about us, I can assure you we are nothing more than a small community of farmers and workers who struggle like anyone else trying to make something of themselves in what is left of this world.”
Logan turns back to the semi-circle of his men and vehicles and sits on the hood of a dark painted Jeep. Tires rock as he lets his weight settle and the men standing on the front seats let their rifles drop forward as they keep their balance, the barrels pointing dangerously toward the center of the crowd.
“Yet, nothing of what this world has become seems to be anywhere near this place,” Logan says.
He opens his arms wide to sweep in the village and all of its people.
“By the grace of the lord above, we have been spared most of the trials that afflict so many,” Brother George says.
Long fingers tap horrible notes on the hood of the Jeep.
“See, that is where I think you are lying, Brother George. See, my city is a fortress compared to this collection of buildings and shacks you have here, and on all sides, we are besieged by plague and famine. The infected as you know do not care about your god or your prayers. They only want one thing and that is to eat. Looking at your nice, healthy group here with what appears to be absolutely no protection, I’d say they’d have a feast worth killing for, wouldn’t you?”
Brother George doesn’t flinch or show any sign as his face stays as cold as ice. Kelly can feel the sweat drip down her neck and arms, yet he looks cool and undaunted. The tension mounting within the people next to her is enough for them all. She can feel the need to bolt build, not just from her, but everyone who isn’t holding a rifle or a man of God. Mouth as dry as cotton, she tries not to cough between large gulps of held breath.
“The infected suffer just as much as we all have. Their actions are a result of a curse brought upon this world and they have little control of what drives their deteriorated minds. We do not fear them for they are only fighting for survival like we do. Yes, you are correct Mr. Barnett, we do not have defenses as you would describe them. But do not for a moment think we are helpless.”
The clicking of metal echoes through the empty streets as several of the men prepare their rifles. The man with his stupid hat holds up a hand and the men behind him do not move.
“Is that a threat, Brother George?”
A small shake of the head.
“There is no threat. We are nothing more than simple folk, but the will of God with the strength of our devotion is what keeps us safe. As you can see we have very little here, Mr. Barnett. At this time, the sun will soon begin to fall beyond the horizon and I do not yet understand your reasoning for coming here and putting holes into our beloved church. Is there an explanation for why we are standing here, and a purpose for your men to be scaring the good people behind me?”
Logan pushes himself off the hood of the Jeep and steps forward until he is less than a finger’s width away from Brother George.
“Is there a reason why we are here?”
“Let me go!” a woman yells out.
Several of the townsfolk shuffle as dust kicks up in the air. Kelly steps forward to come around so she can see and some men huddled together with their families begin to yell.
A rifle barks into the early evening sky and kids scream as people trip to cover themselves.
“We found this one hiding out in a building across town,” one of Logan’s goons says as he pushes the nurse forward.
Her feet stumble over the stones of the road but Brother George quickly steps forward and catches her before she tips too far. With a huff of breath, she rights herself and wipes away at the dust and grime clinging to her long dress and white apron.
“Hiding something from us, Brother George?” Logan asks.
He reaches forward and tries to put a hand on the nurse’s shoulder but is slapped away with a resounding crack. A smile creases the sunburned face, and he wags a thick sausage of a finger in her face.
“A nurse taking care of those who are sick is hardly something to hide. Nurse Porter here is just one of my assistants and she takes care of those who I cannot see while I give sermon.”
Brother George wraps his arm further around the nurse’s shoulder and pulls her closer. Chin up, the woman has eyes of daggers as she watches the man with the big hat’s smile grow wider.
“What of the sick did you find? Any of them infected?” Logan demands.
The man who dragged Mrs. Porter shakes his head and shrugs.
“Not from what I could tell. Looked like the poor guy had nothing more than a fever. Definitely wasn’t infected.”
Logan turns back to Brother George.
“Are they hiding any medicines?”
His voice takes in a low growl and he uses his bulk to tower over the priest and his nurse.
“Nothing that you wouldn’t find abandoned. Some pain meds, a few of those fake herbal supplements. There is nothing here, boss,” the goon says.
Kelly can feel her face redden as the silence falls like a knife between the two groups. She wants to run, but like ice her feet are frozen in place.
“I don’t know what you are hiding here, George. But I’ll tell you what. If any of my men begin to feel sick, we might just be willing to send them here to partake in this healing of faith you preach about. If though we hear another word, even on the wind that more of these infected are coming here and being cured, you can bet your life I will know what is going on. You cannot hide these things from me, Brother George. I will know your secrets even if I have to kill every one of you to find them.”
The nurse slumps in Brother George’s arms as Logan turns back to his men. With a wave of his hand he climbs into the Jeep and several of the trucks rev their engines as they turn to leave.
“Remember what I said, priest. I will know your secrets. One way or the other I will know.”
In a storm of dust and fumes, Logan and his men speed off into the coming night.
Watching them fade into the distance, no one leaves the front of the church. People whisper, and others cry openly. Kelly doesn’t know what to think. They have no weapons that she knows of. Nothing that would count against men like that. Bert’s father has an old rifle he uses to hunt deer or scare off wild dogs. There is a rumor of a few other guns between the homes but that is it. What are they going to do?
“That is enough for today,” Brother George starts. Words of protest and fear begin to call out, but he silences them with a lift of his hand. Kelly even tries to say something but the moment that palm is risen she can feel the fear wash away with the breeze. “Do not fear these men or the other afflictions of this world. We have survived so many other trials and we can survive this. Go home. Tuck your family in for the night and rest your weary heads. Our lord above will provide as he always has.”
“But those men!” voices fighting the reassuring words call out.
She can feel the will of the people teetering.
Brother George helps the nurse who still leans heavily against him make her way to the crowd and he opens his arms to them all. Even Kelly can now feel the warmth and trust as it blankets them with an invisible touch.
“Those men are as lost as we were four years ago. They will come, and they will go, but if we keep our faith true, we will remain within the sight of our lord father above. Trust in him as you trust in me. We will see each other through all of this and whatever is to come.”
The thoughts of denial and disbelief are gone with a tidal wave of hope.
“Yes, Brother,” people call.
Slowly families begin to peel away and become lost in the lengthening shadows. Kelly pushes her way through the thinning crowd and finds Bert being squeezed to death by his mother, his face smashed tightly against her wide hips that somehow reach the bottom of her breasts.
&nbs
p; “There you are, big man,” Kelly says.
Cheeks red as cherries and eyes just as swollen, her friend pries himself from the woman’s arms. Kelly can’t tell if it’s from crying or the death grip of his mother.
“So, you are OK?” Bert asks.
Looking at herself as if realizing it for the first time, Kelly shakes her head.
“Yep, no bullet holes. How are you—” she begins.
“We are fine and going home right now,” Bert’s mother cuts in.
A pinch of pain crosses her friend’s face as he’s spun around and Kelly watches as they begin their march away from the church. With a sigh she turns back to see Brother George talking with a few of the older men of the village. She can’t hear their words but each of them is staring out where the dust of spinning tires is finally setting.
She wonders what they are thinking. Probably exactly what she is thinking because to her there is little else that she wants to know.
Prayer or no prayer, what are they going to do if those men come back?
3
Just Passing Through
The talking does not stop.
Neither does the heat as the night gives way to the day. The dark shadows of the west disappear beneath the endless flatness. A haze of radiation lifting off the dirt horizon like a frying pan cooking over the fire. There is hardly a cloud in the sky and dark-winged creatures float in slow methodical circles.
Circling.
Waiting.
Hungry.
“So where were you last night?” Red asks.
Merchant grunts and doesn’t answer.
“I know where you were, demon,” Snake-Eyes says as he appears from dust in the wind.
Both of them will not stop. In the middle of the open plains, surrounded by empty space and the hollow graves of lives lost to death and misery, these two and the hundreds that follow him refuse to be quiet.
Red continues her chatter, but he does his best to push it out and the words are hardly more than the cracking of stone and dirt beneath his threadbare boots. She leads the way for all of them now. Hardly an accomplishment since they haven’t turned off the highway in weeks. Kicking at stones, spitting on the ground, and rambling on about anything and everything that passes through her deteriorating mind, mile after mile breaks beneath the weight he carries on his shoulders.
Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence Page 3